


The Sister

by wesoftandfluffy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, John is a softie, Sherlock Being Sherlock, The usual Sherlock kind of angst, lots of fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:35:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27619121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesoftandfluffy/pseuds/wesoftandfluffy
Summary: Did you know that Jim Moriarty had a sister?No?Neither did Sherlock Holmes.- - -Begins during season two of Sherlock. Will very loosely follow the plot but with major changes.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1 - The Sister

Sometimes in life you meet someone and the whole world disappears. For Sherlock Holmes, the world’s only consulting detective, that someone was Jim Moriarty. When Moriarty had him running all over the city chasing people strapped with bombs, Sherlock had felt a stirring deep in his mind. A very elaborate room opening its doors within his mind palace. And then when Sherlock himself had found himself at death’s door with John that day at the swimming pool, he knew that he’d met his match. The world’s only consulting criminal. If they were pieces on a chess board, they’d both be queens; the two pieces with the most power, the most movement. 

That wasn’t to say that he was in love with him. No; there was something about Moriarty that was too sinister, even for Sherlock and his skulls. There was something he hadn’t quite figured out. Or, perhaps, something he hadn’t figured out until  _ now _ . 

‘A sister?’ Sherlock asked, scanning over the file Mycroft had given him. All of the information was there: Bernice Moriarty, born 1984, sent overseas in 1990 to be adopted by the Russels. 

‘Sherlock what does this mean?’ John asked. The three of them were in Mycroft’s office, John sitting while the brothers faced each other across a large oak desk. 

Sherlock didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. He didn’t know. Why, when the man was so clever, so careful, had Moriarty let them find out about her? Was it a trick? No, he didn’t play like that. Unless…

‘He doesn’t know. He mustn't.’ Sherlock dropped the folder, watched the papers float briefly and then spread out across the desk. Her face, those eyes, staring up at him. Thoughts, countless possibilities, flew through his head. ‘Where is she?’ 

‘Well, Sherlock, wouldn’t that ruin the fun of it all? If I tell you, you’ll just storm out and I’d be forced to bring you back again.’ Mycroft finally decided to sit now. The way he sat back, crossed his legs, and smirked made Sherlock’s brow twitch in annoyance. 

‘I’d rather not go through that again.’ John said. Sherlock would have to agree. Being tricked into searching for an invisible hoard of rats wasn’t enjoyable in the slightest and, now that he thinks about it, a bit too Lovecraftian.

‘Yes, and I would rather not have to orchestrate anything similar. So, Sherlock, sit down and act your age.’

It was at this point that John decided not to say anything else. It was better to let the two brothers have at each other than to interfere and be insulted. 

‘Oh be quiet, Mycroft. Don’t you see? We finally have an in. ‘The cold eyes of the Moriarty brother flashed through Sherlock’s head and he  _ knew _ that this was his way to take down the only man worth taking on. 

‘And what of her? Do you really wish to put another life at risk?’ 

‘What is another innocent life risked when we’re up against a madman!’ 

‘Who said she was innocent?’ Mycroft’s smirk grew. He had set the trap and now he was laying out the bait. 

‘Tell me.’ 

‘Well, brother mine, it seems the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.’ Mycroft was practically glowing now. If Sherlock could, he'd crack open his brother's skull and pull our his brain to study. The secrets he would find… ‘And as to where she is? Why, she’s right next door. I’ll leave you to discover the rest on your own. She’ll be staying with you for a while.’ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I don't know why I started another fic, but here it is!  
> This first chapter feels quite series but I just needed to set up a few things and I struggle a little with Sherlock's POV. My OC will be the POV of most of the chapters. Prepare yourself for lots of fun, chaos and a very soft Sherlock <3


	2. Chapter 2 - I am not my brother

There are very few things that Bunny remembers from her old life. There’s the soft smile of her mother. The calloused hands of her father and the way he used to pinch her cheeks. The screaming, smashed glass. Her brother. 

Jimmy is almost perfect in her memory. Fourteen years old and the smile of a monster. Except when Bunny left, pulled into the back of a car she didn’t know by a woman she definitely did not know, and he was frowning. He looked angry. Bunny knew it wasn’t at her; her older brother was angry at the strangers who were taking her and their parents who let her be taken. So Bunny knew that Jimmy was going to come for her. So she waited. 

And waited. 

But after a week, then a month, a year, ten years, twenty… she had long given up waiting. After twenty seven years and a whole lot of trouble, she went looking. 

And she decided to start by using the British Government. 

Currently, she was sitting in an oddly posh room with a roaring fire and velvet clad seats. Through a set of large doors, a man with dark curls and a long woollen coat swept into the room. Bunny knew that face; she had seen it in the papers and had a copy of her favourite picture taped into her journal. 

Sherlock Holmes. 

‘The sister,’ he said. He stopped a metre away from her, looking incredibly tall from her seated position. Not that he wouldn’t seem as tall if she was standing. Bunny was quite short. 

‘The detective.’ 

‘The only consulting detective in the world.’ 

‘So I heard.’ 

A man with greying hair and soft eyes walked in next. He, unlike Sherlock, seemed to possess a lot more manners. He approached her slowly and then held his hand out in greeting. 

‘John Watson. It’s, uh, nice to meet you, Bernice.’ 

She took his hand, gave it a firm shake. 

‘It’s Bunny.’ She ignored the snort from Sherlock. ‘Nice to meet you, John.’

_ Not so nice to meet you, Sherlock, _ she thought at the same time. She didn’t take well to rudeness. 

Another man walked in. This one she knew. 

‘Bernice Moriarty, meet Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. You’ll be staying with them for some time.’ Mycroft had a wicked smirk on his face. 

Bunny’s heart rate picked up, her palms moistening. She nodded. 

‘Thank you, gentlemen. But there’s something you should know,’ Bunny began. She turned and looked up to meet Sherlock’s eyes. ‘I am not my brother.’ 


	3. Chapter 3 - Interrogation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided not to go into much detail about the geography of the flats. Basically, Mrs Hudson's flat is on the ground floor with an almost identical layout to Sherlock and John's, aside from her little kitchen that we know is different, with Bunny staying in a room that is below Sherlock's. Enjoy!

Bunny was grateful to be staying in Mrs. Hudson’s spare room. The flat was bright and reminded Bunny of her adoptive aunt’s home where she had always felt most comfortable; floral wallpaper lined the walls and was mirrored in the plush living room chairs. The room she was staying in was apparently used mostly for ironing, but once the ironing board and piles of clothes were removed, it was quite homely. The bedspread was a pale yellow which suited Bunny well. 

‘I’ll leave you to settle in, love,’ Mrs Hudson said before leaving and closing the door behind her. 

Up above, Bunny heard footsteps. They were quick, rhythmic. She knew it was Sherlock and that he was doing it on purpose, finding some way to annoy her. He was probably doing it to get a reaction from her. 

One, two, three, pause. A soft scraping of him no doubt turning on his heel. And repeat. 

‘I can see why you like him, brother of mine,’ Bunny said to the shadows in her room. Then she started to unpack. 

Currently, Bunny was sitting in a comfortable chair by a fireplace. The room was full of light as a result of two large windows that looked out to Baker Street. She could hear the rumbling of traffic and, in between bites of the muffin she had been given, the harmonic ring of a bell marking a visitor to the café next door.

‘Oh, Sherlock, this is my flat, you know,’ Mrs. Hudson chided, but the effect was lost due to the soft smile on her face. ‘At least knock first.’ 

Sherlock, still dressed all in dark tones and thick wool, ignored the landlady and let himself into the living room, having entered through the flat’s front door without letting himself be known. 

_ Probably to try and catch me in the act _ , Bunny thought. Not that she was planning on doing anything just yet. And anyway, why would she be doing anything of any interest in a sweet old lady’s living room barely an hour after arriving? A sweet old lady that she already really liked. 

‘So,’ he began. He was standing directly in front of Bunny now. Once again, she was sitting while he was towering above her. ‘Your brother.’ 

‘My brother,’ Bunny said. Their conversations seemed to hold the same patterns. 

‘When did you last see him?’ 

‘When did  _ you  _ last see him?’ Bunny shuffled on her seat to get more comfortable and took a bite of the muffin. 

‘So not long then?’ 

‘I heard he tried to blow John up.’ 

‘Where did you hear that? Your brother?’

‘I’m glad he didn’t finish the job. I quite like John.’  _ And you _ , bunny thought but didn’t say. 

‘You’ve only met him once,’ Sherlock said, a little too quickly.

‘Twenty-seven years.’ 

‘What?’ Finally, Sherlock stepped back. 

‘That’s how long it’s been since I last saw my brother, Sherlock Holmes.’

Sherlock didn’t say anything else. He turned around and walked towards the windows, watching people pass. After a solid minute, of which Bunny counted each second, the detective turned back around and looked at her. 

‘Then I suppose you had better get ready for a long awaited family reunion.’


	4. Chapter 4 - Chaos

_ A long awaited family reunion.  _

Sherlock’s words echoed through Bunny’s head, seemingly over and over again even though she knew barely a second had passed. Her mind, like Sherlock’s, worked fast. But, after all, wasn’t that why she was there? The desire to see her big brother again, though somewhat mixed with curiosity over the detective hovering over her, was why she made herself known. 

‘Oh dear,’ Mrs. Hudson said, shuffling in her armchair that sat close to the fireplace. ‘Shall I go make some tea?’ 

A look of irritation flashed across Sherlock’s features. Bunny found that she couldn’t look away from him, even if looking up at where he towered over her seated position made her neck ache. 

‘Would you?’ Sherlock said, his voice close to a whine. ‘I’m feeling a bit peck-ish.’ 

No, it was not a whine that Sherlock was aiming for, Bunny realised. The way he had drawn out the last word, barely glancing at his landlady who stood up, was a big play of sarcasm. Everything is a game to Sherlock Holmes.

_ So childish _ , Bunny thought. 

‘Wait,’ she said. ‘You sit, Mrs. Hudson. I’ll get the tea. How many sugars?’ 

As Mrs. Hudson answered her, Bunny stood up. It was quite hard, what with Sherlock standing so close, and the result meant that her nose was almost brushing his neck. The tips of their shoes were touching, his loafers meeting her fluffy bunny slippers. She looked up at him again, feeling the ache in her neck even more. But she didn’t look away, merely held his striking gaze. 

Finally, after close to a minute, Sherlock stepped back. Bunny stepped past him, felt the cold of the room now that Sherlock’s body wasn’t so close to hers anymore, and left the room. 

And, of course, Sherlock followed. 

The kitchen was as floral and bright as the rest of Mrs. Hudson’s flat and Bunny found that she liked the room a lot. The fridge was well stocked, the cupboards full of snacks and sparklingly clean china. It was small but she could feel the love and life floating through the air. 

Bunny quickly claimed a pale yellow mug and then pulled out a matching pink one for Sherlock. She knew he wouldn’t like it, but she also knew that his pride wouldn’t let him complain about it. Not to her, anyway. Not yet. 

‘So,’ she began, not looking at Sherlock. In the corner of her vision she could see him hovering at the doorway. Close enough. Mrs. Hudson was still in the living room, soft sounds of the TV filtering down the hallway. She wouldn’t be able to hear them. ‘What do you want to know?’ 

He didn’t try to bluff his way through. They both knew that this was an interrogation. 

‘Why?’ he asked. 

‘Why am I so charming?’ 

‘Why now?’ 

Bunny pretended to mull over his question. To add to the effect, she even puffed out her cheeks and blew a strong stream of air out of her mouth that set her bangs flying up. Then, drawing out each movement, she set the kettle on to boil and turned around to face the detective, leaning back against the kitchen counter. His dark eyes met hers.

‘I missed my brother.’ 

He moved further into the kitchen now, light bouncing in his eyes. Only a metre of soft, white tiles marked the space between them. 

‘No, that’s not it.’ 

Bunny tried to be offended, but she, like Sherlock, knew that wasn’t the case. 

‘Well,’ she began, speaking a little louder in competition with the noisy kettle, ‘I suppose I was bored.’ 

‘Prison not to your liking?’ 

Bunny smirked, then smiled wide. She imagined him pouring over her file, thick as it is, memorising each word. Yes, she definitely liked Sherlock Holmes. 

‘The first few months were fun. Time seemed to fly by.’ The kettle had finished now so Bunny turned back around to pour water into the mugs. ‘But then…’ 

‘Boring.’ 

‘Yes. Everything gets boring after a while,’ Bunny said, knowing that he agreed. 

‘And what do you want?’ Bunny could hear the answer in his own voice, even as he asked her. He already knew what she was going to say, but she, deciding to play along, answered him anyway: 

‘Chaos.’ 


	5. Chapter 5 - Bored

Sherlock couldn’t see it. He looked at Bunny, for perhaps far too long, and could not see any real resemblance to her brother. They both had the same dark hair and eyes, the same curve of their lips when they smiled, but none of that mattered. Not when the game was afoot and the woman now living amongst them was possibly the key they needed to win. 

Bunny had been living with Mrs Hudson for a full forty-eight hours and for most of them Sherlock had been hovering. He had spent more time in his landlady’s flat in those two days that he had the entire time he had known the woman. The incessant florals blurred from room to room as he paced and watched Bunny. 

Inwardly he cursed at himself; how many times had he gotten annoyed at John or Mrs Hudson for hovering around him? Sure they were probably just looking for signs of his bad habits, not that they would find any ( _ did they really think he would make it that obvious? _ ), and Sherlock was looking for clues to help take down a man with a mind almost as great as his own. But wast that all he really had to go off of now? 

Sherlock really needed a case. Anything would be good. 

‘Let’s throw a party,’ Bunny said, and not for the first time. ‘I can make a cake.’ 

‘No.’ 

‘No cake, yes party?’ 

‘No.’ 

Sherlock couldn’t do it for much longer; here was the sister of his enemy, an object of the greatest possible leverage, and he didn’t know what to do next. Did he text him? Send him an envelope with some of Bunny’s hair in? No, even Sherlock knew that was a bit too morbid. And who was to say Moriarty would even recognise the hair or even his sister once he saw her? They had been apart for almost three decades. 

Suddenly, Sherlock heard the click of a picture being taken. On his phone. He stopped in his tracks and swivelled on his heel to look behind him. Bunny sat there, ridiculous slippers on her feet that were bouncing up and down over the side of an armchair, holding Sherlock's phone up in the air, posing. 

‘Stop,’ Sherlock said, storming over to her. He snatched it out of her hands. Another click. When he turned it over he saw a blurry photo of his hair and jaw. He looked down at the woman who was smiling impishly up at him. 

‘How did you get this?’ 

‘I’ll tell you if you show me where you live.’ 

Sherlock stared down at her. It seemed as though he was always looking down at her like this, with her sitting and him standing or pacing. Her eyes, wide and surrounded by long lashes, revealed boredom similar to what he felt. 

‘Let’s go then.’ 


End file.
